


Bleeding Out

by Likea_boss9987



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likea_boss9987/pseuds/Likea_boss9987
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'You remember the elation you felt when Harry first accepted your hand back when you were young and innocent.' If Harry accepted Draco's friendship, what would have happened when Voldemort came back? One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You are on your knees, blindfolded, barebacked and bleeding. You aren't gagged though, no, they want to hear your screams when they torture you, when they inflict their sadistic pain. Your once-shimmering signature Malfoy platinum blond hair is dirty and matted; sweat and blood sticking it to your pasty forehead. You are in the dungeons of your childhood home where no one can hear your blood-curdling screams—especially not your parents, who you definitely do not want to hear you scream your throat out. They know what's happening to you but they can't act against it, they are helpless to stop this, lest the Dark Lord does the same thing to them. And you don't want that.

It hurts. It's like being run down by twenty cars consecutively, like someone spilt gasoline all over your back and set it alight. It burns and reality makes it burn faster, but your resolve is no closer to faltering than it was two months ago. Eyes closed, because it somehow hurts less when you detach yourself from your broken body, you once again take this brief interval of reprieve to think and reaffirm yourself on why you are doing this, why you are accepting this horrid pain that is nothing like you've ever felt.

You think about Harry's beautiful emerald green eyes.

* * *

_**I'm bleeding out, so if the last thing that I do, is bring you down, I'll bleed it out for you.** _

* * *

Voldemort himself is here to interrogate you and you suppose you should be honored, grateful and begging at his feet. Instead, you spit at it (or what you think is its feet, since you are still blindfolded, drowsy, and can't tell left from right).

You feel a disgusting, icy hand yank you upwards by your hair. The blindfold is torn off your face and you slowly open your eyes to stare into sickening slits of red.

"Don't be like that young Malfoy. All you have to do is tell us where Potter is and grovel at my feet. Then you can be free of your chains," he says, his chilly breath blowing onto your face.

"Never!" You yell as loud as your weak lungs and sore throat would allow you to, spraying a mix of spittle and blood into his snaky face.

He narrows his eyes and beckons for your Aunt Bellatrix and you already know what's going to happen. It has become a regular routine, albeit a very painful one.

You close your eyes as she casts a " _Crucio!"_

* * *

_**So I bare my skin and I count my sins and I close my eyes and I take it in** _

* * *

You recall life as it was before you entered this nightmarish hell that once was your home, your sanctuary. You remember the elation you felt when Harry first accepted your hand back when you were young and innocent.

It wasn't always good times; you were furious when Harry ended up in Gryffindor, when he went there and befriended the Weasel and Mudblood. In your mind, he had chosen them over you. You remember how you ordered the entire Slytherin house to bully the pair, how the different colours of hexes flew that first year. You smirk at the memory, only to wince at the horrid pain that shot up your desecrated back. You were petty back then and you wanted revenge on them for stealing away your Harry.

Of course you had to stop when Harry confronted you about it. You had to begrudgingly accept that he wasn't solely yours and apologise reluctantly to Weasley and Granger. Surprisingly, they forgave you. You became acquaintances then, for the sake of Harry.

You were absolutely livid when a playful teasing with Longbottom's Remembrall resulted in Harry being made into Gryffindor's seeker. He became the youngest Seeker in a century and you were jealous, so awfully jealous that you avoided him for weeks. Eventually though, your heart ached for his presence and you told him that you forgave him for upstaging you. His laughter and smile at your weak attempt at an apology is forever imprinted in your mind.

Second year you realised that Father was planning something against the Weaslette, the only girl Weasley who was starting Hogwarts. You saw him place a book, possibly a Dark one, into her cauldron but didn't say a word about it. You disliked how the Weaslette looked at your Harry and thus, why would you care if she got involved in one of your father's dastardly schemes?

On hindsight, you, Harry and Weasley wouldn't have needed to ventured into the dank Chamber of Secrets if you'd just mentioned that little tidbit of information to your best friend.

* * *

_**I'm bleeding out, I'm bleeding out for you (for you)** _

* * *

You tried to get Buckbeak exterminated in Third year. But who could blame you for it? That Hippogriff was a menace. Obviously, you and Harry didn't see eye to eye in this matter for he ignored you for weeks until you agreed to free it with him.

Time-travel is wacky business but using your Time-turner and Granger's (you both chose too many lessons and had too little time to go for them); you manage to save Buckbeak and catch a rat by the name of Peter Pettigrew. Harry's godfather, the infamous Sirius Black, was released of all charges and it was all thanks to you. One good deed to make up for previous misdeeds. You'll pay for the rest later in life—in a dungeon, with your lips sealed, keeping all the secrets of the Order.

In Fourth year you stood by Harry when the Weasel decided to abandon him when he most needed help. You, with some discreet help from Granger who had the difficult task of trying to appease a jealous and angry Weasel (Harry still wanted him as a friend, something that still confuses you to this day), helped him through all the tasks. You tried to raise team morale by creating some magical 'Down with Diggory' badges that changed into 'Harry is Hogwarts Hero' with a tap of a wand but Harry demanded you rid of them the very next day. Apparently, he didn't like your idea. You'd scowled but complied. No use starting an argument over such a stupid thing—you didn't want to be another Weasel.

You shudder as you realise that you've gotten to the point in your life when Voldemort came in and ruined everything.

* * *

**_When the day has come, but I've lost my way around, and the seasons stop, and hide beneath the ground_ **

* * *

No one in the Ministry would believe Harry when he said that Voldemort was back, those fools, and they sent Dolores Umbridge to keep him in check.

Fifth year you joined the Inquisition Squad to act as a spy within Umbridge's ranks. You acted like a prick and pretended to abuse your power but you always ended up back in the Room of the Requirement with the rest of the Dumbledore's Army, warning Harry when Umbridge got suspicious of their club. It was also the year you joined the Order of the Phoenix, when you realised that was the only other way to protect your Harry from danger. You were to become a Death-Eater the next year and act as a spy for the Light side, like Severus. It was a way to keep both Harry and your parents safe from Voldemort's wrath; only you would get hurt in this scenario. You were scared, of course you were, but it was for the best.

Given the task of killing Dumbledore in your Sixth year, you were so frantic and worried about this task that you lost all semblance of reality, of time. Only Harry and Dumbledore were told of your order and the Headmaster came up with a plan. But, unfortunately, you didn't have time to execute it before you were found out and exposed as a spy.

Which is why you're here on the cold hard floor of Malfoy Manor's dungeons.

* * *

_**When the sky turns grey, and everything is screaming, I will reach inside, just to find my heart is beating** _

* * *

You can feel the blood trickling down your face and the slab of meat that was once your back. Tears mix with the blood to form a salty coppery mess that falls irregular onto the filthy floor. You don't know how many Cruciatus curses you can take, how many more whipping sessions before your body gives up.

To take your mind of the throbbing ache of your body, you wonder what it is like outside this prison. You haven't seen the sunlight in ages. You imagine it's evening now, that the sky is grey like your eyes and dark like your soul.

Emptiness and searing pain, sharp like a carving knife, is all you can feel and it threatens to crush you underfoot. The deadly silence around you when you are not being kicked around to the amusement of the other Death-Eaters seems to scream and the numbness of death will be welcomed with open arms at this point in time. You heart falters and you swear it stops for a second. You are sure this is the end. But then his face appears in your mind and the thumping of your heart becomes regular again. You won't be dying today.

* * *

_**Oh you tell me to hold on, oh you tell me to hold on, but innocence is gone, and what was right is wrong** _

* * *

Harry's voice echoes over and over in your mind whenever you feel like just giving up, giving you encouragement and blocking out the sound of leather lashing on flesh. He says, "Hold on Draco, just hold on." And you listen.

You wish you weren't here, you wish that none of this happened, that you and Harry was still in school, where you were still young, innocent and ignorant schoolboys. Alas, it cannot be. In actual fact, you have lost your innocence long ago, due to the war. This is just an eye-opener to show you that life would just get harder and more torturous as the war progressed. And Harry—your Harry—lost his when he saw his godfather die before his very eyes. He is the one who's supposed to end all this madness. He'll have to kill and instead of being the courageous Gryffindor he excels at playing, he would have to become a sneaky Slytherin if he wanted to kill Voldemort. You know how Harry dislikes Slytherin traits and treasure Gryffindor ones, even though his best friend is a Slytherin. To Harry, it would probably feel like a betrayal to his parents and Black if he started acting and thinking like a Slytherin. But you know he would have to, it's unavoidable. In the midst of a war, House and everything affiliated with it means nothing. Look at you, the supposed epitome of all things Slytherin and Malfoy. You are throwing self-preservation out of the window to protect Harry. You are, at the moment, a Gryffindor from head to toe. Previously, you would be disgusted at the very thought of sharing the slightest sliver of similarity with a Gryffindork but you are doing this for Harry and that speaks volumes of your love for him. It knows no bounds and you will never betray him for anything. When Voldemort will understand this, you have no idea. He doesn't believe in love and thinks you'll break under the pressure of torture eventually.  _Never._

* * *

_**When the hour is night, and hopelessness is sinking in, and the wolves all cry, to fill the night with hollering** _

* * *

You don't know how long you've been here and as each wretched day passes, you become more and more hopeless. You can tell that the war is getting more serious, with more and more casualties as the war stretched longer, as now, you can actually hear sounds at night. You are hardly used as Death-Eater entertainment anymore as prisoners are brought in everyday, fresh meat for them to play with. Right in front of you. And you cannot bear to look at it, but at the same time, you can't tear your eyes away from the gruesome acts. The werewolves have joined Voldemort's side, you are sure, as wolf cries could be heard, breaking the usual loud silence. You have heard it twice now. Does that mean two more months have passed? The world continues to revolve as you are continually stuck in hell; no way to know how much time has passed.

The only indicator is when they bring you sustenance (you refuse to call it food; it's to foul and undeserving of that title) once a day, a meagre amount of mouldy bread and rotten cheese with a cup of spat-in water served at night, not enough to ease your very frequent and familiar hunger pangs or moisten your dry throat.

You are losing hope quickly, and you question the idea of ever getting out of this hellhole.

* * *

_**When your eyes are red, and emptiness is all you know, with the darkness fed, I will be your scarecrow** _

* * *

Suddenly, you can hear shouts and screams as well as people barking out spells in quick succession. The blindfold is off and you stare at the beautiful sight of one broken Harry Potter. He's lost lots of weight since the last time you've seen him and he's probably as skeletal as you are. His hands are clammy with sweat as they caress your face gently and his eyes are bloodshot and red from crying.

"Oh Draco, what have they done to you? I'm so sorry…" His voice breaks at the end and he bursts out into a fit of sobs. As he cries, he frees you from your chains and gathers you into his arms. You embrace him back, not caring that there is battle going on all around you. You still want to protect him, from the emptiness and pain he is feeling from seeing your tortured form, and it doesn't matter that everything hurts. You can feel his pain and it hurts even more.

"I-I'm okay Harry. Not your fault," you manage to stammer out as your dry throat protests. This is the first time you have spoken in weeks, aside from the cries of agony, and it sounds so hoarse and broken. It sounds so different from your usual arrogant drawl that you wince at it.

"You're fine now Draco, you're fine now. We'll get you patched up and you'll be okay." Harry continues this mantra as he casts all the healing spells he knows on you. You feel the wounds on your back and cut on your face slowly close up and disappear, it's hard to believe that there was anything there in the first place. Only some scars left by too-deep cuts are visible and you sigh in relief. At least you wouldn't have too many reminders of your suffering here.

You still hurt but you hardly feel it as he plants a sweet, tentative kiss onto your chapped lips.

"You're okay now. Close your eyes and rest." He commands softly and you comply, allowing your eyes to close, as someone picks you up slowly, lifting you up from the blood stained floor. With your dried blood caking your body and the fresh one sticking you to the ground, you must look quite the sight. When your skin touches smooth, satin sheets, you slip into slumber. You have survived this ordeal and it will scar you forever but you know that you would bleed out for Harry any day.

* * *

**_Cause I'm bleeding out, so if the last thing that I do, is bring you down, I'll bleed it out for you_ **

**_I'm bleeding out for you (for you)_ **

 


	2. Nothing Left To Say - Harry's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'You don't exactly remember why you took his offer of friendship, you only know that you don't, and will never, regret it.' If Harry had accepted Draco's friendship, what would have happened when Voldemort came back? [Companion Fic to Bleeding Out]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some gruesome scenes
> 
> Author's Note: This is a companion fic to Bleeding Out and shows Harry's point of view. Honestly, this has more plot than the other one. You don't have to read Bleeding Out for this to make sense but I think it is best to read both for full comprehension.

You are sobbing hopelessly into your pillow, soaking it wet. You feel so empty without his presence that has become such a constant in your life and something inside you is making the pain even more unbearable. Your scar is hurting terribly as well. If only it could all  _stop._

It's already daybreak and you haven't even slept a wink. You'll be getting hell from Mrs. Weasley once she sees the eye bags underneath your bloodshot eyes. It seems that this has become some sort of cycle for you. Go for Order meetings; skip your meals (having to discreetly find ways to escape Mrs. Weasley's watchful eyes); search and search and search for ways to get Draco back, before finally falling into bed, resigned to another day of darkness in your soul, tears in your eyes and an ache in your chest. It is meaningless, trying to fall asleep, and the entire Order is getting worried—Ron, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley especially. You just can't do it. Whenever you close your eyes, visions of Draco being tortured assault you, Voldemort's evil laughter always accompanying Draco's cries of agony.

His wails of pain are like a stake into your heart and you would do anything,  _anything_ so as to spare him a whim of mercy.

Oh but the guilt is overwhelming because you know that there  _is_ a way to stop Draco's misery. However it's the only thing you can't do. You can't join Voldemort's side; you can't let him win. Draco will never forgive you. Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, the Order, Dumbledore,  _Sirius who died for the cause,_ and countless others, will never forgive you. You have got to think of them.

Still, the guilt is ever-present.

And the lack of sleep has been taking its toll as well; hallucinations have started to plague you when you least expect them to. Now, even when you do not sleep, Voldemort is able to send you his messages, the visions.

It's so tiring, everyday is a struggle and you feel like giving up. But you can't. You have a duty to complete and you would never leave your friends to their own devices. They need you to kill Voldemort and so you shall. You promise yourself that you will find a way to save Draco—you'll find a way to help him survive through the war, no matter what it takes. Whether death is a better mercy for Draco when all he could look forward to was pain, you do not know. But you are selfish enough to want Draco to live, as long as he is at your side.

Whatever it takes to keep him breathing, you will do it.

* * *

_**Who knows how long I've been awake now, the shadows on my wall don't sleep, they keep calling me. Beckoning.** _

* * *

It seems you spend every waking moment now flipping through every possible useful book you can find in the Black Library. Ron has even joked that you are becoming Hermione 2.0. You weren't amused then and you aren't amused now. You might have accidentally screamed at him for joking when Draco was suffering and you sort of regret doing so as you remember the hurt look on his face but you still believe that he shouldn't be cracking jokes in the middle of a war. Especially not when he interrupts you from what's important: finding ways to save Draco.

Because every second Ron is jesting at your side, Draco is screaming far away.

Hermione sometimes joins you in the library and she is much more productive than Ron ever was, although you usually ignore her presence in favour of scanning through the books, faster and faster, and its like she isn't even there. Whenever she tries to initiate a conversation with you, you raise a dismissive hand until she gives up. Now, she hardly bothers anymore, although you don't miss the worried eyes that often dart towards you when she thinks you are not looking.

You don't mean to worry them, not at all, but they  _must_ see that this is something you  _have_ to do.

The Black Library has more Dark books than anything else and at first you avoid them as much as possible, not wanting to succumb to the temptation of Dark magic. However, you soon give in. And the books turn out to be useful, very useful. Full of spells to disembowel, hurt, kill—way worse than all three Unforgivables combined. Strangely, they aren't the ones that draw you in. The 'Dark' Healing spells (how can they be dark when they cause no harm?),  _those_ are the ones you focus on. Though it doesn't hurt to learn some of the offensive spells as well.

Soon, you start to consult Dumbledore whenever he drops by, talking to him about plans to free Draco, plans to stop the war, plans to kill Voldemort once and for all—but most importantly, plans to free Draco. Even though sometimes you still blame him for Draco being captured, you need him to help. You know you'll never succeed in your endeavors by yourself; all the previous years adventures were only won because you had the help of someone else (or multiple someones).

Now that you think about it, you allow yourself a brief reprieve from your hectic schedule to reminisce upon those happy years prior, when the threat of war wasn't hanging over you.

First Year. That was the year that started it all. The year you were introduced to the Wizarding World, your best friends, the Weasleys, your first home, your fame and of course—Draco Malfoy.

The first impression of Draco was that he was an arrogant snob. Very much like Dudley, in fact. But you still took his hand when offered. You don't exactly remember why you took up his proffered friendship; you only know that you don't, and will never, regret it. Considering the fact that you can't even imagine a life without Draco as your friend now, the choice in hindsight was inevitable.

First Year he—along with Ron and Hermione—accompanied you to the Third Floor Corridor to prevent Quirrell (back then you thought that it was Snape; an honest mistake) from securing the Philosophers Stone for his Lord. He helped you with the task set by Snape (that annoying Potion Puzzle) when Hermione opted to stay behind to take care of an injured Ron.

Second Year: he went with you, Ron and Lockhart (the jerk) to the Chamber of Secrets, even though he was obviously disgusted by the very thought of willingly going into a gruesome death trap. When Ron and Lockhart were stuck outside the chamber, he helped you fight the Basilisk—leaving him quite fearful of snakes, much to his Slytherin shame. He would never admit it though. Draco was never the type to show vulnerability, to show weakness. You don't blame him; he was raised that way after all. But sometimes you wish that he would just open up to you like you do with him.

However, now, you finally comprehend that being too expressive is killer—it's like displaying all your weaknesses for your enemies to exploit.

And you aren't going to make that mistake. So many lives count on your success that it would be fatal, disastrous if you do so. Not something you ever want to face. Plus, a reminder that you give yourself everyday: Draco is counting on you to free him and you aren't going to let him down.

Third Year is a year you would never forget. Gaining a family—people who knew your parents personally, intimately—is not something you would ever forget.

And Draco helped you free one of them.

Your godfather Sirius Black released of all charges, thanks to Draco, Ron and Hermione. That year was crazy though; you've got to admit. So many of your preconceived notions shattered like pieces of fragile glass. Not that you mind too much, you much prefer gaining a godfather to having  _another_ mad murderer chasing you.

If you have to pick a year that you hate the most, the answer would most probably be—without a doubt—Fourth Year.

The Fourth Year when you were forced to compete in a tournament you never entered, causing one of your best friends to leave you out of jealousy. When practically the whole school shunned you. When you allowed your fellow Hogwarts Triwizard Tournament Champion, Cedric, to  _die._  Fourth Year: the year Voldemort rose once again.

If Draco hadn't been there for you, if Hermione hadn't convinced Ron to come back…you shudder to think of the result.

Fourth Year. A year you shall always remember with guilt in your heart and disgust in your eyes. Even now you think about it with tear-stained eyes and clenched fists. Perhaps it is time to move on to the next year.

Although, now that you think about it, things just went downhill from there forth.

You didn't understand back then why the entire Wizarding World refused to believe you, refused to believe  _Dumbledore,_ that Voldemort had returned. However, you know now that it was not for a good reason at all. They refuse to believe you because of  _politics,_ because of Cornelius Fudge's incessant need to fool the Wizarding World that all was safe and sound. Ignorance is bliss, after all. Let's all pretend that war isn't imminent, fast and approaching, that everything is all sunshine and daisies! Why not, right?

No. Wrong.

Everything was not sunshine and daisies unfortunately. The world was not a place where someone could just cover their eyes and ears, ignore all problems and everything would be okay.

If that were the case, you would have escaped your fate a long time ago and no one would have been harmed. Alas, no.

Instead, Fifth Year came around with the sufferings of every person who trusted your sayings. All at the hands of one particularly nasty woman.

Previously, you chose Fourth Year as your most hated year. Now, if you could pick your most hated professor (perhaps even _person_ ), you would no doubt choose Dolores Umbridge. The Devil himself cross-dressed into an unflattering pink dress, whose sole purpose in life was to torture students and spread bigotry. The Undersecretary to the Minister. Who used dark quills,  _illegal_ quills, to torment her students.

Sirius dies. Killed by Bellatrix Lestrange. He dies smiling at you.

What a joke. But then again, your entire life is one big, fat joke isn't it? You wonder when the punch line would finally punch you in the face and end it all.

Moving on to Sixth Year. The year you are presently living in—if you were actually still studying in Hogwarts. No. The moment Draco was found out and taken away, that was the moment you withdrew and left your first home. Because it just wasn't home without Draco, was it?

Even so, it isn't as if leaving Hogwarts deterred your studies at all. In fact, after all those years of schooling at Hogwarts, what have you learned? Nothing important. Nothing useful. Nothing that would actually help you win the war. With the information you found in the Black library though, you might have a minute chance of winning. As well as a chance of getting Draco back.

The possibility is close to none—you are a child fighting against one of the most powerful wizards seen in centuries after all. But if there is one thing you have learnt in all your years, it is that you have a strong determination. You are a  _survivor._

No matter what, you will persevere. You will push on. And you  _will_  win _._

* * *

_**Who knows what's right; the lines keep getting thinner, my age has never made me wise, but I keep pushing on and on and on and on** _

* * *

It has been three months since Draco was captured. The scenes of Draco being tortured has lessened significantly yet you don't feel comforted in the least. If anything, your worry increases ten-fold. If the visions stop altogether…would that mean that Draco's dead? Either that or he has betrayed the Order's secrets.

The latter option, however, is as probable as Voldemort dying from tickle overdose. Impossible.

In every scene Voldemort has sent you so far, Draco would always refuse Voldemort offers to spill the Order's secrets. Sometimes you wish that he would give in, just so he would no longer have to suffer. But he never did, and he never will.

And even though the visions have decreased, in the visions you  _do_ receive, the torturing escalates. Too much blood, too much screams, too much  _pain._ You worry when there are no visions but wish the ones that come would just  _stop._ It's a dilemma and in the end, you're the one who loses.

It's been so long since you have seen that pointy face, that superior grin, those warm grey eyes. So long since you've heard his snarky voice. And you miss them. So much.

Your will power, the only thing driving you forward, is diminishing, deteriorating, disappearing. Your need to save Draco grows each day but your belief in it's possibility plummets fast. It's faltering, failing, and you've got no idea how to stop it. Nothing would help. The only thing that could possibly calm you down now would be Draco's arms wrapped tightly around you. But he's not here, is he?

* * *

_**Below, my soul, I feel an engine, collapsing as it sees the pain, if I could only shut it out** _

* * *

Plans are in the process of being made, sure. However, none of them come  _close_ to completion.

The thing stopping all the plans from working is something that no one can solve. Not even Snape, who still spies for the Order, can help with this major flaw. Because what the Order needs to succeed isn't just a Death Eater—they need a Malfoy.

There are ancient wards—blood wards—that surrounded Malfoy Manor, dating back to the fifteenth century. It's strong magic, powerful magic, and no one can enter without explicit permission given by someone of Malfoy blood. You've studied them in the Black Library (it's technically labelled under Dark Magic due to its use of blood) and you know it's hopeless. The wards are impenetrable, invincible. No magic on the planet, not even Voldemort's and Dumbledore's combined, would be able to take it down unless someone of the Malfoy blood assisted them.

Which leaves the Order of the Phoenix in quite a helpless disposition.

The final battle would have to take place in Malfoy Manor if they were to even get a smidgen of chance to win. An attack on Voldemort's fortress would give them the element of surprise while waiting for Voldemort to finally come out—probably after decimating all of the Order's forces—would only result in bloodshed and death.

You don't talk anymore. Let's just say you've taken some sort of oath to stay silent since you rather save your breath. The last time you spoke a word was the time you yelled at Dumbledore for outright forbidding you to enter Malfoy Manor and save Draco yourself. Because you  _can_ enter. You were given entry back in Second Year when you stayed in Malfoy Manor for a week as Draco's guest. The visit had been quite short but pleasant enough, neither of Draco's parents shunning you for your half-blood status, with Mrs Malfoy even going all-out to be hospitable to you. You really doubt that invitation was revoked, especially since Draco would beg you every year after to visit again (though you never accepted; Lucius might have never been rude or cruel to you in the duration of your stay, but living in the same space as him, no matter how large, made you feel beyond uncomfortable). Nonetheless, you are not allowed to act on your own because, and you quote, "you are unstable: mentally, magically and physically. Your efforts would end with failure and the destruction of us all. I am sorry but I just can't allow it."

So, with no feasible plan in sight, your days are spent learning new spells, training, praying to the Muggle god for Draco's safety and occasionally, going out into battle.

Everyone who is fighting against Voldemort knows what his plan is. He's been sending out Death Eaters every other day, obviously trying to keep the Order busy as he—actually what he is planning to do while the Order Members are distracted, you do not know. However, you know that if you allow it to come to fruition, the results would be disastrous and without a doubt, devastating.

The spells you've learnt come in handy. So far, you've fought in ten minor battles. Minor meaning only a handful—three or four, five at the most—Death Eaters would be present at each raid.

Usually the fighting would go on for a few hours—say what you like about Dark magic, it helps one stand their ground well in a wand duel—before the Death Eaters would retreat, most likely at the call of Voldemort.

Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, the Burrow (which resulted in the burning down of the Weasley dwelling). These are just a few of the places that got attacked. In each fight, both sides would be harmed. Thankfully, no hostages from the Order were taken. The Order, on the other hand, has taken a prisoner. Peter Pettigrew, who had escaped Azkaban last year along with the rest of the Death Eaters.

That miserable rat. That pathetic excuse for a man. The moment your eyes land on him, tied and bound in the centre of Grimmauld place's dining place; you want to punch him in the jaw. You might even have been tempted to cast one of the dark spells you've learnt—a spell that caused the victim to feel tremendous amounts of pain whenever the caster wanted, even worse than the Cruciatus since insanity was not an option, leaving the victim at the mercy of as much suffering as the caster so desired.  _He_ was the one that exposed Draco;  _he_ was the reason why Draco was not sitting next to you now, making a sarcastic comment and making you laugh.

It was entirely his fault. This man and his endless betrayals.

It seems Voldemort knew of Pettigrew's tendency to betray secrets when held under wand point since almost no information could be gathered at the end of the interrogation. Only that there is going to be huge battle at the end of the week. At the Ministry of Magic.

Voldemort is planning to take over the Ministry. The same instance those words come out from Pettigrew's traitorous mouth, you know you  _have_ to be at the battle. No matter what Dumbledore says, you  _will_ be there.

* * *

It is worse than you've ever imagined. About a total number of fifty Death Eaters were at the scene—including Lucius Malfoy, though if you squint really close, you can see something similar to reluctance in his eyes. None of them are wearing their masks, they are confident that they will walk away from this battle, this war, victorious. They are sure that they will never need to hide their faces again.

Twenty-three Order Members, including Dumbledore himself (which is considerably rare since he has been notably absent for the past few weeks doing who knows what), against fifty Death Eaters. The odds are not in your favour. You can see where their arrogance stems from.

Even so, you won't let that fact deter you. You'll show them that in the end, they won't prevail.

* * *

Hours have passed. The many colours of different spells fly,  _Avada Kedavra_ green being one of the most prominent, creating an array of twisted beauty in the sky. People have fallen. Remus is one arm short, Tonks is knocked out (or you hope she is unconscious anyway. The alternative is unthinkable), Kingsley is on the ground twitching uncontrollably. Other members whose names you don't know are down for the count as well. Currently, twelve Order Members remain standing.

The other side's numbers have been reduced drastically as well. There's an estimate of twenty Death Eaters still standing. Lucius is nowhere in sight; neither lying bound on the floor nor on his feet fighting. You wonder for a second where he is before you concentrate on the battle once again.

Adrenaline flows through your veins and instinct kicks in as you run around dodging curses, throwing your own (you use a series of  _Incarcerous, Stupefy, Expelliarmus, Petrificus Totalus,_ and occasionally,  _Incendio._ You avoid the use of any offensive Dark curses. Some of the effects listed in the books had made you nauseous just thinking about it and you doubt it would be any more pleasant in real life), and trying to heal the fallen members (which in these cases, the 'Dark' Healing Spells are necessary. Though allowing the patient to drink some blood from your index finger might seem creepy to some people) while Ron and Hermione watch your back.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Lucius apparates to your side, grabs your arm, and disapparates with you in tow. You hear Hermione's cries of "Harry!" and Ron's cries of "Mate!" before your world is a burst of swirling colours and you land on hard concrete.

Your wand arm shoots up straight away as your eyes dart from left to right, trying to figure out where Lucius has brought you. After quick inspection, you realise that you are stuck in a place of which you have no clue with an enemy standing opposite you.

You don't say a word to him, though threat is clear in your eyes as you stare Lucius down. He doesn't flinch as you jab your wand in his direction and drops his wand in a sign of surrender.

You raise a suspicious eyebrow and slowly lower your own wand, still in an offensive stance, still anticipating an attack.

"Potter. I am here to offer you a proposition."

Malfoy offers to allow all the Order Members to enter Malfoy Manor. As long as you save Draco and grant the Malfoy family amnesty.

You see the pain in Lucius' eyes as he mentions Draco's name and you realise that Lucius knows his son is being tortured under his very roof, but is helpless to stop it. Lucius doesn't want Voldemort to win because it would mean Draco's death in the end. His son. His heir. His  _family._

Knowing how much family means to a pureblood, you recognise that this is no trap, that this is a genuine offer and cry for help. He regrets joining Voldemort, he regrets pulling his family into this mess.

Hearing his offer, you nod at once. With Lucius' help, plans could finally proceed. The war could finally end. You could finally save Draco.

He picks up his wand before raising his left arm in an inviting gesture, asking you silently to take it so he could take you back. You take it without a word of protest.

Before he side-apparates you back, he says, "Whatever happens Potter, promise me that you will save Draco."

You nod to his request without hesitation. Of course. You will give your life if it means Draco comes out from the war alive.

When you arrive back to the Ministry, you notice immediately that the Order seems to be winning the battle. Some of the Order Members you've healed are back on their feet. Many Death Eaters have been swept away by what seems to be a massive whirlpool created by Dumbledore. Only one Death Eater is left standing and her name is Bellatrix Lestrange.

She sees her chance to strike as Dumbledore's back is to her. For some reason, she casts an  _Expelliarmus_ and a  _Stupefy_ instead of the Killing Curse. Dumbledore's wand flies into her hand and you are momentarily stunned. As she advances to where Dumbledore lay paralysed on the floor, however, you soon snap out of your trance and cast the Disarming spell on her.

She deflects it easily but now at least her attention is on you and no longer on Dumbledore. She laughs crazily in your direction and a feral smile appears on her face.

A green ribbon of light shoots toward you and you barely miss it by an inch.

Curse after curse, jinx after jinx, neither of you seem to be able to catch the other.

"Face it Baby Potter, you can't win! The Dark Lord shall kill all of you and you'll end up dead like my pathetic cousin!" she mocks and another hysterical laugh escapes her mouth.

At the mention of Sirius, you feel your anger spike to extreme levels. Without thinking, you aim the cruellest Dark Curse you'd found at her.

The Entrailing Curse.

You do it non-verbally; the words  _paulatim dolor viscera_ come effortless to your mind as your wand cuts the air from right to left in a huge arc. The moment the curse leaves your wand, the holly snaps into two and you drop it in shock. You don't understand why that happened.

But it doesn't matter much in that instant as the sickly yellow spell hits Bellatrix right in the chest and she stops mid-laughter. Staring in horror at the huge hole in her stomach—where her intestines slowly fall out from, slimy unidentifiable liquid as well as blood squirting out along with it—she collapses, a grotesque look on her face as she lands with a thud.

You cheer inside at her death, your brain not registering an ounce of guilt. This is the woman who killed Sirius, the woman who tortured Draco, the woman who showed her victims no mercy. She deserved her death.

When your adrenaline level dies down, you realise that it is silent all around you. As you look around, you see the Order Members staring at you in terror, even Ron and Hermione held fear in their eyes.

You meet all of their stares blankly, the happiness high from before fading away, leaving in its wake a strong lethargy. You walk up to Bellatrix's cold corpse and pry Dumbledore's wand from her hand, not caring about the blood that stains your hands.

You approach Dumbledore—who was no longer immobilised thanks to Mad Eyed Moody—and hand him his wand. He steps back, a horrified look on his wrinkled face. He quickly recovers however, and forces a cheerful smile on his face. It's too late though. You've already seen the disgust in his eyes.

"Keep the wand Harry," he says, trying to smile but ends up grimacing. "It's your wand now. Use it to replace your—" he hesitates for a moment before continuing, "Use it to replace your snapped wand."

You accept it with a bob of your head and you turn away, not meeting anybody's eyes.

They are all afraid of you; they are all disgusted with you. You know they are.

Yet, you still cannot regret using that spell, which is a terrible piece of work in both theory and practice. Even though it snapped your wand (how did it do that you do not know. Some research on wand lore might be needed for you to understand), and caused the people who you cared about to fear you, you do not feel remorseful of your actions.

All you can think about is how you would have been the one in her position if you had not cast the spell. No matter how wrong it seems, you did it to survive. It isn't your fault, not entirely.

You would do it again if the situation calls for it.

* * *

_**I've come, too far, to see the end now, even if my way is wrong, but I keep pushing on and on and on and on** _

* * *

Once you inform the Order about your deal with Lucius—by writing on a piece of paper and having Hermione help you read it out—the cheering begins. There are a few suspicions at first ("Why would  _Malfoy_ help us?" "It's got to be a trap!") but they are soon convinced that the offer is very much real. Which means the war is finally coming to an end.

In the midst of celebration though, Dumbledore drags you aside with a grave look on his face. He uses his left hand to guide you and his left hand to cast a privacy charm—which is weird considering that his wand hand has always been his right. In fact, now that you think about it, he does not allow his right hand to come into view at all.

You're getting nervous. The last time Dumbledore has looked this grave was when he told you about the prophecy. The time when you practically ruined his office.

He only looks like that when he reveals something major, something terrible, something completely earth shattering. You absolutely detest that look.

After the charms are up and Dumbledore ensures that no one can eavesdrop, he conjures up a bag from nowhere and pours its contents out.

A locket. A crown-like thing. Tom Riddle's diary.

He reveals his right hand and it elicits a cry of shock from you. It's blackened, charred—it looked dead. And on one of the fingers sat a ring.

Dumbledore just threw a bludger into the game.

* * *

_**I keep falling, I keep falling down** _

* * *

You can't believe it! Just when you thought the war was almost over, that you could perhaps walk out of it safe with Draco in tow, Dumbledore tells you about Horcruxes. He tells you about his suspicions—just suspicions, he stressed—that you are a Horcrux as well.

Which means you have to die.

When Dumbledore told you about Horcruxes and you screamed at him for keeping it from you for so long (self-imposed silence or not, you couldn't allow Dumbledore to dump all this on you out of nowhere without telling him what you thought about it), he said in a calm voice that he wanted to keep you from it so that you had less to worry about, as he knew how much Draco's capture affected you. But you could see in his eyes that that was not the true reason—the truth was that he trusted you no longer.

You're sure the only reason why he reveals it to you now is because he knows about your determination to save Draco. He thinks you will run away otherwise. He's wrong. You care about Draco greatly but he is not the only one you care about. Ron, Hermione, the entire Weasley family, even Dumbledore! You care about all of them too. You won't leave them in the lurch. If you have to die to ensure their safety, then so be it.

You blew up after hearing the entire truth about Horcruxes, about how Dumbledore suspected that there were three more to find and destroy, about how they could only be destroyed when damaged beyond repair. The only known way to destroy the items so far was to use Gryffindor's sword.

So, you had to find two more Horcruxes with Dumbledore—he suspects that the remaining two are Nagini (Voldemort's pet) and Hufflepuff's cup (he gathered from memories)—and destroy them before the final battle Malfoy Manor could commence.

When you asked him why an item of Gryffindor's could not be one of Voldemort's Horcruxes, he gave you an intense look before swiftly replying with "the only items of Gryffindor are the Sorting Hat and Gryffindor's sword, neither have proved to be a Horcrux."

You bobbed your head in agreement to his answer and you made him promise to allow you to go with him to destroy Hufflepuff's cup (wherever it is). Nagini would have to be killed at the battle itself.

You just learnt today that you would have to die but all you can think about is how much of a relief that would be.

* * *

_**I keep falling, I keep falling down** _

* * *

Aside from trying to find information on Horcruxes—the only thing the Black Library did not have knowledge on just  _had_  to be fucking Horcruxes—you searched up on wand lore so that you could understand why your wand snapped in two when you cast that spell. The wand that you were so attached to, the wand that you thought was the key to destroying Voldemort. Why did it fail you because of one spell?

After much research, all you could gather was that it was due to the holly. Holly: used to symbolise truth in heraldry. In the case of holly wood, it apparently snapped as a sign of truth of what you've become. Someone no longer worthy of wielding it. Or at least, that's what you believe it means.

And what a terrible thought. You have grown so horrid that even your wand has given up on you.

* * *

_**I keep falling, I keep falling down** _

* * *

Dumbledore has found that the next Horcrux is within the late Bellatrix Lestrange's vault. Which is very convenient since all of her belongings have been delegated to you, the Black Heir.

There were no more living Lestranges and Bellatrix did not make a will. Thus, all of her vaults went to the Black family. And since Sirius named you Heir…you should not have been surprised when the goblins at Gringotts sent you a notification telling you of your recent gain.

You and Dumbledore went down to retrieve it—Gryffindor's sword in hand—but it had all gone wrong.

It was foolish of you to think that Voldemort would have left one piece of his soul vulnerable. Voldemort is a paranoid individual, as evidenced from having to create Horcruxes in the first place, and of course there were curse upon curse on it.

And although the Horcrux was destroyed in the end, so was Dumbledore.

He might have survived a curse placed on a Horcrux before but this time, Snape was not around to stop the curse in its tracks.

By the time you had side-apparated him to Grimmauld place, all the while crying out for help, it had been to late. Before he died, he took of the ring he wore on his dead hand and slid it onto your finger. He gasped, "W-Wear it to the final battle. Please H-Harry. P-Promise me you w-w-will."

Those were his final words. You wail once you realise that he was no longer breathing, that he no longer had a pulse. You might have blamed him for so many things, but he was still your mentor. Your headmaster. Your pseudo-grandfather.

You depended on him for so long…and now he is dead. And it is your fault.

You hug his corpse to your chest and mourn; ignoring the frantic cries of the Order members all around you.

* * *

_**I keep falling, I keep falling down** _

* * *

Tomorrow is the day the Order will launch their attack on Malfoy Manor, tomorrow shall be the final day of the war.

The entire Order now know of Horcruxes, they know that one of their most important goal when they enter Malfoy Manor is to kill Nagini.

It is a good thing that you and Dumbledore had the hindsight to delve into the Chamber of Secrets to get the Basilisk's fangs. This way, most of the Order Members are armed and ready to kill Nagini. And even you, if the need ever arose. If you turn out to be a Horcrux like Dumbledore suspected.

Dumbledore. His name still makes your eyes water, and causes your guilt to rise.

If Draco were here, perhaps he could take some of your pain and guilt away like in Fifth Year, when he helped get you over Sirius' death.

But he isn't. And that's your fault as well. He's suffering because of you.

No longer though—it all ends tomorrow.

* * *

_**If you could only save me, I'm drowning in the waters of my soul** _

* * *

The battle begins once the Order apparates into Malfoy Manor and start cursing down Death Eaters. You, however, have something to do first.

You apparate in like everyone else but you are under your Invisible Cloak. Ron is under the cloak with you as well while Hermione's behind both of you under a Disillusionment Charm. On your hand sits the former-Horcrux—Dumbledore made you promise on his deathbed and you would not dishonour his memory by not wearing it—and in your hand you hold Dumbledore's wand.

You rush off to the dungeons immediately, Ron and Hermione tagging behind you.

* * *

_**There's nothing left to say now** _

* * *

There are a couple of Death Eaters outside the dungeons, guarding it and Hermione and Ron bring them down while you dash inside impulsively, mindless of danger.

You spot Draco at once, his neck chained to the wall as he kneels on the filthy ground. He is a bloody mess, and there are cuts and deep wounds all over his body. You whimper at the sight.

He's so thin. He obviously hasn't been fed much, if at all, during the nine months he has been captured. Your heart aches at the thought of all the suffering he has been through because of you and you whip off the blindfold he is wearing. Unbeknownst to you, tears start to fall from your face.

You stroke his cheek gently and for the first time in weeks you speak, your voice coming out broken and raspy, "Oh Draco, what have they done to you? I'm so sorry…"

And you cannot continue that sentence as you suddenly burst out into a fit of sobs. You quickly free the chain from around his neck before pulling him into a tight embrace. So long. So long since you've seen him.

And this will probably be the last time too.

He embraces you back and you wonder if he understands the finality of this moment. He tries to reassure you, "I-I'm okay Harry. Not your fault." He sounds so pained and your hug him tighter. He winces and you let him go, realising that he is still injured and must be hurting real bad.

You cast all the healings spells you know on him as you keep repeating the words, "You're fine now Draco, you're fine now. We'll get you patched up and you'll be okay."

Once you are sure he isn't hurting too much any longer, you lean in and give him a chaste, but sweet peck on his lips. You don't know if he even feels the way you do, the overwhelming urge to protect and keep safe, but you do it anyway. Because this might be the last time you see him.

You gesture Ron to you as you tell Draco to close his eyes and rest. Ron picks him up—you don't have the strength to do so—and apparates away. You follow him too while Hermione remains in the dungeon, freeing and healing the other prisoners.

You watch as Ron places Draco onto your bed and you want to touch him one last time but you know no more time can be wasted. Draco is safe. Now it's time to fulfil your duty.

* * *

**_There's nothing left to say now_ **

* * *

You apparate back to the dungeon and hastily help Ron and Hermione to patch the prisoners up. The moment all of them are healed, you throw your Invisible Cloak over your head and run to find Voldemort. Ron and Hermione stay behind, side-apparating the prisoners to Grimmauld place to rest and recover.

* * *

_**I'm giving up, giving up, giving up now** _

* * *

You rush into the heat of the battle and see Neville, with Gryffindor's sword, behead Nagini in one swift slash.

Nagini is dead.

It's time.

* * *

_**There's nothing left to say now** _

* * *

Armed with Dumbledore's wand in your hand, his ring on your finger and your father's cloak on your back, you face Voldemort.

You close your eyes for a split second, thinking of all the people you are giving up your life for—Ron, Hermione, Mrs Weasley, Ginny, George, Fred, Neville, Luna,  _Draco_ —and open up your eyes. Emerald green eyes from your mother light up with fiery determination.

It is time to die.

* * *

_**There's nothing left to say now** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The song lyrics in bold italics is from Nothing Left To Say by Imagine Dragons. This fic is much better if you hear the song as you read it. I hoped you enjoyed it.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The beautiful song lyrics in bold italics are from the Imagine Dragons, Bleeding Out. This fic is much better if you hear the song as you read it. I hoped you enjoyed it.
> 
> Reviews are very much appreciated :)


End file.
